


The Last Something That Meant Anything

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: The Distance [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Darkness, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Magic, Sadness, bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: Derek felt the magic in his chest the way Stiles was drawing on it, and knew the exact moment that the darkness became tangible because...because.Stiles falling limp hurt like the fire had so long ago, so he dashed back into the house.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It might be drawing to a close? I'm going on the fly, but maybe three or four left, maybe more :) sorry for not posting so often, busy with school, but here you are

Derek could hear everything with his advanced hearing. They must have gagged Scott somehow, because of him he could hear only choked groans. Liam breathed hard with the strain of keeping Scott still, Malia was pacing back and forth, and Deaton was quietly guiding Stiles through the spell that would free the monster lurking under Scott’s skin. But none of that mattered when he could hear Stiles’ heartbeat going too fast, too hard, almost bursting from his chest with every second. Derek could feel the tendrils of magic curling through the air like they were his own, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that this must be the bond he knew was there without a doubt.

 

And he knew the exact moment that Stiles manifested the darkness into something tangible, because his entire body just…just.

 

Derek was moving before he could think it through, bursting back into the house and thundering upstairs. Malia had turned as well and was standing over the prone figure on the floor, growling up at the _thing_ hanging in the air. She lunged for it the moment she saw Derek, and he turned human to scoop Stiles up off the floor and back away as it exploded outward with a shriek of fury. Malia went right through it and hit the wall, collapsing against the toilet. She pulled herself up slowly, but she was turning back as well, and there was a dark streak across her skin where she’d hit it. Deaton was whispering in Latin as it spread out over the ceiling, Liam was covering Scott with his body, and Derek was desperately searching for Stiles’ heartbeat under the chaos.

 

_“Please.”_

Stiles’ eyes flew open with a gasp and an unintelligible yell, and the darkness suddenly curled over on itself and dissolved into a tiny ball. _“Ignis,”_ Stiles muttered, eyes half open, and it burst into flame and left behind only ash.

 

Deaton was coming towards them, but Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and let his eyes flash blue in warning. Stiles’ heartbeat was too faint, too slow now, and Derek was so afraid. The magic was retreating back into Stiles as if in apology, back into a tiny corner in his soul until Derek couldn’t feel it anymore. He went limp against Derek’s chest as his eyes fluttered shut, breathing shallowly through his mouth. Derek clung to that tiny sound as movement stirred around him.

 

Liam was wrapping a towel around Malia’s shoulders where she sat down on the floor. The streak of dark went from just underneath her jaw and disappeared beneath the towel, where Derek knew it spread across her chest across her body to her opposite hip. Deaton was tilting her head to give it a quick look, but he was mostly concerned with Scott, twitching into consciousness in the bathtub. His gaze wandered from Malia to Liam and finally to Derek and Stiles just outside in the hall. “Stiles,” he croaked. “Stiles.”

 

Deaton steadied him as he pushed himself up on the side of the tub, stumbling over it before running into the counter. Liam wrapped an arm around Malia’s shoulders and pulled her back, holding the towel in place when she seemed to forget about it. Derek watched Scott as he slowly made his way forward, shaking so hard that he fell to his knees right in front of him. “Derek, please,” Scott whispered. He was soaked in sweat, stained with blood everywhere, about as pathetic as he had ever looked…and Derek couldn’t let go. He held Stiles’ motionless body in his arms and tried not to let tears spill over. Liam was right; Stiles looked so small like this.

 

“Someone call Stiles’ father,” he managed before his breath choked up and he couldn’t speak anymore.

 

**

 

It was like that first day in Chicago all over again; Derek sat on the floor with Stiles cradled in his lap while the sheriff held his hand in both of his, waiting for him to wake up. Deaton left after telling them that Stiles was stable, just worn out, leaving them all in silence. Liam called Lydia and told her what happened, Malia sat blankly with a blanket around her to replace the towel, and Scott…when Derek refused to let go of Stiles, Scott went downstairs. Derek could hear him pacing back and forth in the kitchen, and when Liam went to check on him, he got no response at all.

 

Finally, the sheriff couldn’t stand it anymore. “Could you all go home, please,” he said. It wasn’t a request, that much was clear, but Liam and Malia still hesitated. “I promise, we’ll call when he wakes up, but please leave us alone.” When they were both gone, and had taken a quietly protesting Scott with them, he turned to Derek. “You two should move into the bed, son. You should sleep while he does.”

 

Derek shook his head. “I can’t. I—I shouldn’t have let him do that.”

 

“You couldn’t stop him,” Sheriff Stilinski said firmly. “We both know that.”

 

Derek was starting to tremble. “I’m supposed to go to work soon, there’s schoolwork, I can’t—”

 

The sheriff laid a hand on his shoulder. “Stop.”

 

That was when Derek noticed that he was still naked, Stiles being the only thing covering himself from the sheriff. He awkwardly reached for a pair of sweatpants lying on the floor (his? Stiles?) and the sheriff gently took Stiles from him, turning to lift him into the bed while Derek pulled them on. When Stiles was settled, the sheriff guided Derek to sit on the edge of the bed too. “Go to sleep,” he said softly. “You’ll know when he wakes.” He settled in the desk chair himself, watching Stiles with tired eyes, and Derek only hesitated a moment before burying his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck so he could feel his pulse against his cheek. Amazingly, he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

 

**  


The sheriff was gone when Derek woke up hours later, presumably off to sleep in his own bed. Stiles seemed better, more color in his cheeks, looking more like sleep than unconsciousness. One of his hands rested on Derek’s neck now, fingertips in his hair. Derek couldn’t stop staring at him, caught up in the sunlight across his cheeks and his eyelids fluttering. The anxiety started to melt away the longer he looked, but the fear didn’t. That thing that Stiles had pulled out of Scott…it had been wiped away, but Derek couldn’t get it out of his head. _That’s what the Nemeton did to Stiles too,_ his mind provided unhelpfully.

 

He shook the image from his head and reached for the laptop on the floor instead. Stiles wasn’t waking up anytime soon, he could see that, and he knew it would be better to work instead of dwell on the night’s events. So he listened to a lecture and worked at the same time, firmly not thinking of Deaton making him leave and then Stiles prone on the floor, of Scott’s agonized noises and how Malia seemed to be painted by the darkness she’d flung herself at.

 

He was so focusing so intently on his work that he didn’t notice Stiles stirring next to him until his hand covered Derek’s on the keys. He startled so badly that the laptop nearly slipped off his legs and Stiles laughed hoarsely. “Think you could get me some water?” Stiles asked. Derek was up immediately, saving his progress and hurrying downstairs to the kitchen. Stiles was trying to sit when he made it back, so he hurried to support him in doing that too. “Calm down,” Stiles grated, accepting the water and drinking slowly. He stopped after a moment to breathe in deeply, and then finished it on his second go at it. Derek stood at the side of the bed, hands twisting together, and finally Stiles reached up and pulled them apart. “Derek,” he said softly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered.

 

Stiles shook his head, gently tugging at Derek until he sat down, and then lay back until Derek rested against his chest, almost all of his weight on Stiles. Stiles stroked through his hair and tilted Derek’s face up to meet his in a slow kiss. “Remember when you hated me?” Stiles said when they broke apart. His eyes were slipping shut again, but he rubbed his nose along Derek’s so that his heart ached in his chest.

 

“I never hated you.” Derek watched Stiles slowly drift off again, but caught the twitch of his lips when Derek finished, “I just didn’t know how to love you yet.”

 

**

 

It was three days before Stiles could do anything that required more energy than walking up and down the stairs. Derek took the week off to look after him when the sheriff couldn’t, and the second night when Stiles was showering, he called Deaton to yell at him for putting Stiles at risk like that. “It could have killed him!”

 

“Stiles knew the risks—”

 

“Did he?” Derek growled. “Did he know that the darkness could’ve latched onto him instead?” He’d had Malia bring him some of Peter’s old books and read more about the Nemeton, things that terrified him. “Is that why you let him do it instead of you?”

 

“I’m not strong enough for that kind of magic,” Deaton said calmly. “It’s nothing I could have done.”

 

Stiles came out of the shower to see Derek pacing back and forth across the room, hands fisted in his own hair. When Stiles touched him, Derek whipped around, eyes blazing blue and fangs elongated. He felt awful immediately, but Stiles didn’t even flinch. He cupped Derek’s face in his hands and rubbed his thumb under Derek’s eye, gathering angry tears that he hadn’t even known were there. “I’m okay,” he told Derek, kissing him even though his teeth were still sharp. He brought Derek’s hands up under his shirt and pressed his palms against his skin until Derek drew in a sharp breath and began touching on his own. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” His heartbeat was steady, strong, even when Derek lowered his forehead to Stiles’ shoulder, teeth just inches from his neck. His claws were out, gliding along Stiles’ ribs and back and stomach as he slowly grounded himself, but Stiles only pulled him closer and kissed his hair.

 

“I’m sorry I left.” Derek felt himself turn human the longer Stiles held him.

 

“Screw Deaton,” Stiles muttered. “Next time that kind of shit happens you’re not going anywhere. It’s not your fault that I’m not Scott’s anymore, I wasn’t the second he sent me away. You just made it easier to stop denying it. I’m yours, you’re mine, that’s it. That’s all we need. So fuck anyone else who says that we have to leave the room during a crisis. We’re better together.”

 

“I think I might be in love with you,” Derek told him.

 

“I know.” Stiles smiled at him and pulled him down to the bed.

 

**

 

Derek was there when Scott knocked hesitantly at the front door, just finishing up an assignment. He went stiff in a way that he hadn’t when both Liam and Malia came to see Stiles, and that’s how Stiles knew. “Come with me,” he said quietly, tugging on a t-shirt and grabbing Derek’s hand. “I can’t—”

 

Derek stood up immediately and kissed his forehead. “I’m right here,” he murmured, and they went down the stairs together. Stiles breathed in deeply before opening the door with his free hand, firmly holding onto Derek with the other. Scott was tense, like he hadn’t expected the door to open and hadn’t planned for what he would do if it did. “Hey,” he settled for, and for the first time since he’d come back, Derek didn’t want to cause him any sort of bodily harm. Maybe because of the dark thing that had somehow crawled out of his chest.

 

“I thought you’d come earlier than this,” Stiles said.

 

“I wanted to, I just…I didn’t know what I was going to say to you,” Scott admitted. “I still don’t, I—I really messed up, Stiles.” Stiles raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I know I did, I’ve known it for awhile but I couldn’t—god, I can’t—”

 

“You can start by apologizing,” Stiles interrupted him. “Some of that was what was wrong inside you, sure, but it was still you, Scott. I know who you are, I’ve known you all my life, I know what it looks like when you think something’s wrong, I know what it looks like when I’ve messed up. I…” He swallowed hard. “If you can apologize to me and mean it, then I can—but if you don’t mean it, we can’t. I can’t. You hurt me Scott.”

 

“I know.” Scott looked heartbroken. “I’m so sorry for that. It’s the worst thing I could’ve done to you, everything I did, it all just got so twisted in my head. I couldn’t believe that you’d killed Donovan, and it just spiraled after Theo, and…can we talk? Alone?”

 

“No.” Stiles turned his palm so that his and Derek’s fingers laced together. “We can’t. Not now. Not—I don’t trust you right now, Scott.”

 

“I want you to be pack again, at least,” Scott said desperately. His eyes flicked from Stiles to Derek, and Derek knew he wasn’t included in that. “Not for me, for Malia and Liam. They miss you, I know it.”

 

“As far as I’m concerned, they’ve always been part of my pack,” Stiles said harshly. He was shaking slightly, heartbeat rising, hand squeezing Derek’s so tightly it hurt. “They never stopped. Just because you kicked me out doesn’t mean they did too. You might have decided I wasn’t worth it, but they didn’t. Liam called me all the time, Scott, and Malia still asked me for help with work like nothing was wrong. They have been ever since I came back.” His skin was prickling like there was a current running just underneath the surface and Derek could feel the heat of magic in his own chest where it gathered in Stiles’. “I can’t—I don’t want to be alone with you right now, Scott, because I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do. There’s so much—I’m angry, I’m so angry with you, I can’t—I can’t.” Scott reached out to touch his shoulder, maybe to try and steady him, but both Stiles and Derek reacted instantly: Stiles jerked back into Derek even as electricity visibly sparked between his fingers, and Derek caught him around the waist and growled low in his throat.

 

“Just tell me what to do,” Scott whispered brokenly. “I want my best friend back, I want my brother back, Stiles, please.”

 

“I’m not yours anymore, Scott.” Stiles let Derek press a kiss to his temple, not in possession, but in reassurance. “I want you back too, but not how it was before. I need…I need time, okay? There’s just too much right now and I can’t.”

 

“I’m so sorry.” Scott’s heartbeat was steady, remorse pouring off of him in waves. “For everything, Stiles.”

 

“I know,” Stiles said softly, meeting his gaze. He was calming down, magic retreating back into him, and his body relaxed back into Derek’s. “I’m still not…I’m not feeling really great, I can’t talk about this now. Can I—can I text you when I want to talk?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Scott agreed immediately. “Just as long as we do. Please.”

 

Stiles nodded, and looked away.

 

Derek finally spoke. “I think maybe you should go now, Scott.”

 

Scott’s eyes snapped to him, defiant, and then back to Stiles. But Stiles wasn’t saying anything, just tilting his head back to rest on Derek’s shoulder, eyes closed. He was exhausted all over again. After a long moment, Scott nodded jerkily and ran off, and Derek pulled the door shut gently and held Stiles until he turned in his arms.

  
“Did leaving Beacon Hills after the fire help?” he asked. His eyes were shining with tears.

 

“It made it worse,” Derek answered honestly.

 

“Then can you help me forget about it for a little bit?” Derek was about to protest that sex right now wouldn’t be good, but Stiles shook his head quickly. “Not like that, like…I want to play a board game and watch Game of Thrones and eat a lot of terrible food. Can we do that?”

  
Derek kissed his forehead. “Anything you want.”


End file.
